Read this shit it's funny.

Labels: art of love, lmfao

I WOKE UP with a slight hangover. My boy Noel dropped by and I was rather thrilled to see him, particularly because he was toting two cases of Samuel Adams...do you know Sam? He’s one of my bestest of friends. He’s always there for you when you need him, he’s not emotionally unavailable like so many so called friends are…whenever you have worries or fears he has this magical power to erase the pain away. He’s my therapist, my advisor, my personal consultant and he always makes ugly people look more attractive than they actually are.

I started advising Noel to start dating around proactively, since he’s gone through a relatively difficult breakup. He's quite resistant to the idea. He was thinking he was being intrusive because it was V-day, and I laughed..."Everyday's Valentines Day for my gal!" I said, and it was quite true. I think he’s still in the wallowing stage, which takes a hell of a long time to get through. I remember mine with my ex, it was horrendous….and that wasn’t even a good sane or healthy one! I guess there’s very good reason a guy must suffer the pains and tribulations of dating girls who turn out to be serious byiatches. It teaches you that beauty lasts about as long as a fart in the wind. My wallowing was so, I don’t know…an incomprehensible blur of lurid imagery. Drinking alone in dark uninteresting bars; waking up with unholy headaches and intolerable agonies, praying to the Almighty himself to purge you of that old familiar feeling, or simply trying to lose yourself in the thrill of the hunt. I was like a social predator in a way, seeking out my own Anabel Lee but finding next to nothing.

They say not to search for love, but whoever says that has never tasted it. Love is patient, but finding love takes incredible impatience, relentlessness, resourcefulness and great precision. It’s never easy like in the movies, and if it wasn’t as rare as a orchid in the desert then everyone would have it and being authorities in getting it now wouldn’t they? So next time you hear that annoying piece of un-wisdom just blast the idiot who tells it.
Anyways, Noel will be sauntering off to the Philippines right after me, I’m sure he’ll forget all about his woes of the heart here in shietcago. There’s plenty of sweet looking hunnies to be had over there. He kept asking me if I was ready to settle, and I chuckled…’Uh, haven’t I already?’ well I have. I can’t imagine myself being single, having to tirelessly pursue chicks who aren’t even half the woman my significant other is. My new passion, my new purpose is chasing my dreams. I’ve got the girl already, now I need to make my first million…no seriously, I do. I’ve got enough crazy shit going on in my brain to fill up Millennium Park.
So I joined one of those listing sites called Blog Catalog. Immediately upon being accepted I saw all of these so called bloggers who were actually money grubbers…you know, they get you to goto their blogs and beg you shamelessly to click on their ads. Fuck that shit! I don’t have one muthafucken ad on my blog, I don’t use Google ad sense, and I don’t care to either. I don’t envision visitors wanting to click on ads that lead to penis enlargement pills, valestra, Viagra, or buying cheap property on some island resort in the Bahamas.

Labels: Art of Life, art of love

I remember running into her on the street, just outside of the Berwyn el stop. It was a mid-summers night while I was walking along…I’d intentionally gotten off the wrong station, I wanted to walk home some…feel the beautiful summer breeze braise gently against my skin. During the summer season in Chicago I found walking to be immensely pleasurable, meditative too.
That wasn’t the way we met, but it was a memorable moment in both of our timelines. We had met only a few weeks before at Dominicks on Sheridan and Foster…I think it was next to the produce department. I’d accidently toppled a mountain of fuji apples in her path, and she tripped…hard…very hard. Everyone seemed to stop in their tracks and give me cold dirty stares. A moment later as I was helping her up to her feet, those evil looks soon transformed. The women were smiling stupidly and going ‘Awwwwwwww’ with their eyes, and the male spectators started rolling their eyes, disgusted by such a display. I felt quite heroic, and she was flustered, quiet, a little pissed? I couldn’t gauge her. I think that’s what compelled me to do what I did. For once my inadvertent clumsiness actually worked in my favor. Don’t get me wrong, I’m highly balanced and well coordinated, it comes from years of martial arts training. But at times I had this strange accident proneness to me. Like I accidently yawn and stretch out a hand to strike someone in the face, etc. I think I have a weird luck factor going. For instance: a mugger who’d tried chasing after me tripped on ice…tripped! That saved my bacon. I’d run forward instinctively, the guy could’ve been packing heat or a knife. So I spun and roundhoused the dumbshit. He struck me in the ear, I was going to do a fight club reenactment at that moment…
While helping her to her feet, I employed my pick pocketing skill and slipped a business card into her purse. Of course, I could have simply given it to her…but where’s the fun in that? However, she promptly invited me out to Club Rocket the coming Fri night after work.
She immediately caught my eye. We’d met briefly, at that meat market club Rocket downtown. I think this time on the street she noticed me more clearly, and I could sense that she was powerfully attracted to this body, this form, this grinning face. I found her very beautiful herself…and she smelled like angels ought to smell. We had striking similarities, and petty differences. She was definitely more sensitive than me in many things, perhaps. But at times she could be more insensitive about things as well.
We spent many nights in her dingy apartment conversing next to the window and smoking Marlboro menthol lights or parliament lights over glasses of cheap table wine. Her small humble digs I now remember with sentimental reverie…we were so happy there…so many clustered memories flood my mind whenever I stop to stare back at that time.
Every morn we’d walk over to Starbucks for some coffee, and I’d walk her to the Bryn Mawr station so she could get to work in time. Remember getting annoyed whenever 24 came on, as her place was right next to the train the blasted Redline train would roar past and scramble our set with static…particularly during the intense torture scenes we were so incredibly fond of. Nothing like the maniacal heroics of a crazy spy to serve as the glue which held us together so tight and snug.

Labels: art of love

Apparently one can fly out to Prague and have sex for free by some hot goddess...as long as you don't mind being filmed and aired for the perverse pleasure of the entire web. I guess all of those 40 year old virgins out there can finally get laid and feel like a porn king in the process.

Labels: art of love